


Arrangement

by hxlios



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Sex, Cock Slut Stiles Stilinski, I'm not gonna tag all the sex things that're gonna happen, M/M, Sugar Daddy Peter, face fucking, peter likes people that don't like him let's be honest, stiles is super blasé about sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxlios/pseuds/hxlios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles Stilinski, this kid is known. Lydia Martin’s right hand, on the school’s top three achiever’s list, works at the university library, and he’ll suck your dick for a hundred bucks.” Isaac says, wicked grin just sly enough to pique Peter’s interest. </p><p>In which Stiles starts off trading blowjobs to help pay his way through university, and somehow ends up on the receiving end of both Peter’s money and affections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this started out with 'how much dialouge can i fit into a sex scene' and somehow grew a plot

“Stiles?” Peter inquires, because he might have heard the name once or twice in passing, but never bothered enough to question who exactly that was. Isaac is speaking with such badly concealed enthusiasm though, Peter can’t help but tune in.

“Stiles Stilinski, this kid is _known_. Lydia Martin’s right hand, on the school’s top three achiever’s list, works at the university library, _and_ he’ll suck your dick for a hundred bucks.” Isaac says, wicked grin just sly enough to pique Peter’s interest. He’s got no clue who Lydia Martin is, but he’s assuming they go to the same school as Isaac.

“Paying for sex, Isaac? Shouldn’t you be spending your money on textbooks?” Peter tsks, shaking his head slightly. Scott coughs awkwardly from where he’s seated on the couch, attempting to get through a particularly long chapter in his biology textbook. Peter only knows this because he’s the one the ends up helping Scott study more often than not.

“We used to be really good friends.” Scott interjects, clearly looking for a way out of studying but unsure if this is the out he really wants. “Up until the middle of high school, when I got turned. I ended up pushing him away to keep it from him, and we kind of fell apart.” He explains.

Erica snorts from somewhere else in the loft.

“Oh please, honey. That friendship was dying long before you got turned.” She says, not bothering to raise her voice, but the sound carries anyway.

Scott pouts slightly, and Peter thinks for the third time that day that he’d very much like to shoot himself in the head if only to get away from this inane chatter. If there’s one thing he’ll never forgive Derek for, it’s building a pack out of _children._

“ _Anyway_.” Isaac pipes up again. “You’ve looked better, I figure you could use the release.” Isaac says. The boy is strangely earnest, forever seeming to try and get in Peter’s good books. He’s losing interest fast though, and he turns back to the newspaper he’s reading.

“I don’t need to pay for a blowjob.” He says curtly, intending to end the conversation there.

“But even Derek went to him once.” Isaac says. _“Derek._ ” He stresses.

Peter’s interest revives slightly, and he narrows his eyes at the boy. He can’t imagine his nephew ever doing something so gritty, and he wonders just what it is about this boy that has him attracting werewolves. Peter hears a growl from somewhere in the parking lot that signals their resident Alpha is back.

He makes a snap decision, then, if only to avoid the inevitable chastising that’s going to happen once Derek makes his way upstairs. He puts the paper down and gets up, grabbing his coat off the hook and making for the fire escape. If he avoids Derek, he’ll also avoid questions on just where exactly he’s going.

* * *

When Peter steps up to the front desk of the campus library, the boy sitting behind the counter doesn’t even look up at him. All Peter can see are thick rimmed black glasses, and how he has an absurd amount of eyelashes contrasting against the pale skin of his cheekbones.

“Can I help you?” He asks, words rehearsed and automatic. His eyes are flickering quickly over a textbook, occasionally pausing to scribble something down in a margin. Peter observes him, stays quiet long enough that big honey eyes flicker up to look at him.

The boy holds his gaze for less than a second, sliding down Peter’s body before settling back on his textbook. He obnoxiously pops the gum in his mouth, the sound echoing across the quiet space.

“Mrs. Miller isn’t in today, if you’d like to leave her a message…” He trails off, not looking back up at Peter. The werewolf grins, already taken with how easily the boy has brushed him off. Peter wonders if this is Stiles, and figures a subtle nudge won’t hurt.

“I’m here for you, actually, I’ve heard marvelous things.” Peter drawls, hoping to catch the kid off guard. Stiles doesn’t even flinch, just highlights a particularly large chunk of text and caps his highlighter with a snap.

 “Hundred bucks and you get to fuck my mouth and pull my hair. Extra sixty and you can either come in my mouth or on my face, ‘nother forty and I’ll act like I’m into it. You’re not allowed to say my name when you lose your load. If none of those appeal to you, you can get a handie for fifty or kindly fuck off.” Stiles says curtly, all in one breath. He jots something else in his book before flipping it shut and finally looking back at Peter. That answers that, then.

The wolf is a bit taken aback, and when Stiles cocks an impatient head at him and asks, “Well?” Peter is so already lost. He reaches for the wallet in his back pocket but Stiles is standing up and rolling his eyes.

“Not here, big guy.” Stiles says, making his way around the desk and jerking his head in the direction of the far end of the library. “Back room, follow me.” He directs, brushing past Peter and filling his nostrils with something absurdly alluring. He smells like citrus and star anise and Peter wants to bury his face in his neck and get a good whiff. Instead, he trails after the boy, weaving through stacks of books until they reach a far room hidden away from most of the tables. Stiles texts while he walks, which leads him to stick out his tongue and almost walk straight into the door.

The door has ‘ _STORAGE_ ’ scrawled across the front in fading sharpie, and Stiles pulls a ring of keys off of his belt loop. It takes him two tries to get the right key in the slot, and when the door swings open, Peter realizes it smells faintly of sex. Stiles gestures him in and shuts the door behind them both.

“Charming.” Peter says, looking around the stuffy little storeroom in distaste. It’s cluttered with broken books and files, and he wonders if anybody even knows what’s in most of the cabinets.

“Sorry, were you expecting rose petals and scented candles?” Stiles snips back, shucking off the cardigan he has on and draping it over the back of a chair.

“A cliché is a cliché.” Peter mumbles to himself, watching as Stiles walks over to him and holds out his hand. 

“Pass me your wallet.” Stiles demands. Peter almost wants to say no, just to witness the expression on Stiles’ face, but he has a feeling he’ll just get kicked out of the library.

Instead he pulls it out, placing the worn leather into Stiles’ palm and watching him rifle through it. Stiles pulls out his ID, squinting at it for a moment before his eyes widen. He mouths what looks like Peter’s last name before snapping his gaze up to the werewolf.

"You're not an Alpha, are you?" Stiles asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he shoves Peter’s ID back into his wallet.

Peter feels his brows raise all the way up to his hairline. He's surprised, to say the least. It isn't often that someone will openly confront him about what he is. Most people don't even know that creatures who go bump in the night exist.

He manages to control his expression, slipping back into a more impassive one as Stiles crosses his arms.

"Would it be a problem if I was?" Peter asks mildly, wondering what, if anything, his pack status has to do with him getting those pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock.

"Yeah, I turned down Derek for that exact reason. You two are related, right? He's too young to be in control of his desire to mark or claim. If I let him put his hands on me, there's a high chance he wouldn't take them off, get it?" Stiles explains.

"A bit confident, aren't we?" Peter says, leaning back against the door. He’s delighted at the information that Derek had actually managed to fail at paying for a blowjob. No wonder he’d growled when Isaac had brought it up. He files the information away for later, fully intending to bring it up when Derek was trying to pull any of his Alpha bullshit.

"Yes, and for good reason. The only time I'll deal with an alpha is if he's older. More control by that point, less likely to take this more personally than the business transaction that it is." Stiles says, rifling through Peter’s wallet and pulling out two crisp hundred dollar bills. “Guessing you want the works?” He adds, waving the bills in Peter’s face.

“Why not?” Peter says, because really, two hundred dollars is pocket change to him. Stiles nods absently, sets the bills down on the cluttered table and tosses the wallet back to Peter. He starts to reach for his glasses and slide them off, but Peter clears his throat.

“Those can’t stay on?” He asks, because he figures ordering Stiles to do anything won’t get him anywhere. Stiles quirks an eyebrow up at him and shrugs.

“Dunno, am I going to have to clean shit off of them later?” He asks back, fingers resting on the bridge of his nose. Peter full on grins at that.

“I’d much prefer the pleasure of watching you swallow my come.” He says, finally causing the barest of blushes to appear on the boy’s cheeks. It tints the air with something slightly sweet and Peter counts it as a slight victory.

“Ooookay then, glasses on.” Stiles says, tongue darting out for the briefest of moments to wet his lips. He seems to hesitate a second too long before moving closer to Peter again. “Still haven’t told me if you’re an Alpha yet.” He adds, but there’s little demand to it. It’s like he already knows Peter isn’t, somehow.

Feeling particularly generous, Peter lets his eyes flash blue. If Stiles is as knowledgeable as he seems, that should be more than enough information about Peter to satisfy him.

Stiles’ heartbeat stutters for just a moment before falling constant again.

“Deal with a lot of were’s, do you?” Peter asks, because he’s curious about the little enigma in front of him. Human in every sense of the word, and not a whiff of the supernatural on him. Yet much more in the know than he seems to be letting on. Stiles just purses his lips and shrugs.

“Enough that I don’t have to worry about catching anything.” Stiles hedges, running a hand through the mess of brown locks on his head. Before Peter can ask for details, Stiles’ mouth is open again. “Gonna stop talking and let me do my thing?” He asks, dropping down to his knees and making the action look almost graceful. Peter just quirks a smile down at him.

“Knock yourself out.” He replies, watching in fascination as Stiles undoes his belt and zipper and yanks his pants down just enough to palm Peter through his briefs. It isn’t long before he’s pulling those down too, letting Peter feel the puff of air Stiles lets out against the sensitive skin.

“Christ, you’re huge.” Stiles murmurs, and Peter can smell the boy’s arousal fill the air with something akin to cinnamon. Sweet and just a little bit heated.

“Never taken a cock this big?” Peter asks, carding a hand through Stiles’ hair. The boy looks up at him with exasperation, offset by the way he’s slowly stroking Peter up to hardness.

“Would it make you feel like a real man if I said no?” Stiles asks, leaning in and licking a long stripe up the underside of Peter’s dick. The man groans, letting his head thud back against the door.

“You’re horrible at dirty talk.” He gets out. The boy huffs out a small laugh and it makes Peter feel a little accomplished.

“People don’t pay me for my wit, unfortunately.” Stiles says. That’s about as far as they get into the conversation before Peter feels those lips wrap around the head of his cock and immediately slide him all the way down to the back of his throat. The boy doesn’t seem to have a gag reflex, because when Peter cants his hips forward a little more, all he feels is the wet heat of a someone that knows how to deep throat.

He lets out a guttural groan, and he can hear and feel the way Stiles hums around him, pulling back to suck at the head. His fingers tighten in Stiles’ hair, pulling just enough for it to be uncomfortable. Stiles doesn’t complain though, just moans a little as he tongues Peter’s slit and mouths down the side of his cock.

Peter desperately tries to keep his eyes open, because if there’s one thing better than getting this blowjob, it’s watching how much Stiles is into it. A part of him wants to believe it’s just the extra money he paid the boy, but he can smell Stiles building arousal in the air, see the ways his eyes get half lidded as he sucks at the vein on the underside of his cock.

They’re both breathing a little heavy, but Stiles doesn’t seem to need to stop and catch his breath, and god Peter doesn’t want him to. When Stiles pulls back only to take him all the way back in again, Peter lets himself thrust into Stiles mouth.

It transitions quite easily from Stiles wiring him up to Peter holding Stiles’ jaw open and letting himself fuck the boy’s mouth. Stiles lets out a muffled whimper every time Peter’s cock slides down the back of his throat, eyelashes collecting moisture the longer it goes on.

Peter has a sudden and overwhelming urge to see Stiles cry, but the thought fades as quickly as it came on. Not the time nor the place. And it’s enough to watch a lone tear collect enough weight to make the slow trek down Stiles’ cheek. Peter releases his jaw just long enough to brush the tear away with his thumb, skewing his glasses and catching Stiles’ attention. Those amber eyes focus on him and Peter can’t help but smirk.

“You’re stunning like this.” Peter murmurs fondly, fitting both hands into Stiles’ hair and thrusting in particularly deep. Stiles does gag a little at that, struggling to suck in a breath through his nose as his eyelids flutter closed for a moment. If his cheeks were flushed before, Peter watches them grow an even duskier red at his words.

Peter loves this, loves the way he’s got the boy at his mercy, the way his heart is beating a mile a minute and Peter can smell precome that definitely isn’t his.

When Stiles raises a hand and rests it on Peter’s hip, blunt nails digging in just enough to sting, Peter loses it. The heat that’s been building up crests and he presses Stiles’ head close, hands fisting hard in his hair as he spills down his throat, leaving Stiles no other choice than to swallow everything Peter’s giving him.

He takes it beautifully, eyes drifting closed as his throat contracts with every swallow, looking for all the word like he’s getting off just as much as Peter is.

Peter lets go of his hair and Stiles slides back with a pop, licking his lips with a wet smack while panting. He stays kneeling for a moment, seeming to catch his breath and steady himself. It gives Peter a pretty little view of the erection the boy is sporting through his jeans. He holds out his hand, and Stiles seems to eye it wearily before seeing to come to some sort of internal agreement and letting Peter help him up.

“You’ve got good control.” Stiles comments, voice sounding rough and just on the side of wrecked. He shuffles awkwardly for a moment and fixing the position of his glasses and clearing his throat. Peter just smiles, pulls his pants up and slowly redoes his belt while watching Stiles run his tongue over his teeth.

“Most circumstances in my life have required it of me.” Peter answers vaguely. Stiles just stares at him a moment longer before grabbing his cardigan and the money. He stuffs the two bills into his front pocket and slips into his sweater before looking pointedly at the door. The sweater covers Stiles already dwindling arousal, which is quite clever considering he probably has to get back to work.

“After you.” He says sarcastically, gesturing grandly at the door. Peter looks up at the ceiling and wills himself not to smile before turning the doorknob.

When they make it back to the front desk, there’s a pretty little redhead sitting where Stiles was when Peter first walked in. She’s also immersed in a textbook, but looks up when Stiles slides back behind the desk.

“Hey Lyds.” He says, planting a kiss on her temple as she vacates his seat. Her face scrunches up in disgust and she lightly pushes Stiles away from her. He just lands in his chair while grinning up at her, and Peter distantly thinks that the boy is rather beautiful when he smiles.

“Don’t ‘hey Lyds’ me. I can’t keep covering for you, I was in the middle of –” She cuts off when she notices Peter leaning against the desk, lazy smile on his face as he watches their interaction. “Oh.” She says, frowning slightly. She ignores Peter completely, turning back to Stiles and planting her hands on her hips.

“Does Deuc know he’s here?” She asks. She must be the fabled Lydia Martin. Stiles just shrugs, eyes wandering over to Peter in confusion.

“Just – no, I’ll tell him later?” He tosses absently in the girl’s direction. He’s got his eyes on Peter and he frowns a little deeper. “Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Hale?” He asks.

Peter grins a little wider.

“I wanted to inquire about your office hours, actually.” Peter says. Stiles’ eyebrows raise and his eyes widen a little, but he gets up off his seat immediately. He picks up a notepad off the desk, and quickly scrawls down his name and number before handing the piece of paper over to Peter.

“Text me.” He says simply, offering Peter a honey-sweet fake smile before turning away again. Realizing he now has no reason to stick around, Peter turns to make his leave. If he hones in on the two, he can hear the rest of the conversation floating over to him.

“ _Are you sure about this? Deuc really doesn’t like it when you take new… clients._ ” The girl whispers.

“ _Lydia,”_ Stiles sighs. “ _Did you look at him? He’s got repeat customer written all over him. I’d be an idiot not to._ ” He responds. Hm, interesting.

“ _Just – just be careful, alright? Remember who’s paying for most of your tuition. If Deucalion cuts you off, I don’t know how you’re going to pay for the rest of the semester, let alone your degree._ ” There’s a brief scuffle of fabric, in which Peter assumes they might be hugging. He’d be able to tell if he were still inside, but now he’s just hovering around the front doors like a creep. He files away that name for later, regardless.

“ _It’ll be fine, don’t sweat it. I’ve got some stuff in savings just in case. And you know I can always go to financial aid if worst comes to worst. He’s a **Hale** , Lydia. They’re freaking rolling in it. Insurance money or something._” Stiles says. He’s not wrong, and Peter feels his lips curl up into a smile. He’s always liked a person that isn’t afraid to use others for their own ends.

He’s heard enough, or all he cares to hear really. He looks at the slip of paper in his hands, a messily scrawled number underneath Stiles’ name. He might give the boy a call, if only to have something to rub in Derek’s face for a few weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter doesn’t text Stiles.

It’s not that he forgets per se, but work gets busy and he keeps pushing the boy out of his mind.

When Peter finds the crumpled up slip of paper buried under miscellaneous files on Friday evening, he realizes that he actually wants to take time and see him. Stiles is the epitome of a no strings attached good time. Besides, he doesn’t really mind shelling out a bit of money to get his hands on the kid again.

He’s not much for texting though, and he decides a phone call couldn’t hurt.

Stiles picks up on the fourth ring, a disinterested, “ _Hello?_ ” drifting through the line.

“Don’t sound so eager.” Peter says, leaning back against the hard back of his office chair. He mostly works from home, and it had seemed prudent to convert the extra bedroom into an office space, considering he’d been using it for little more than storage. At the thought of a storage room, Peter’s lips quirk up into a smile.

“ _Oh, Mr. Hale, a pleasure to hear from you._ ” Stiles says, voice shifting from ‘couldn’t give a fuck’ to ‘mildly interested.’

“So formal, Stiles. I feel like you should be calling me Sir.” Peter responds, absently spinning a pen on his desk.

“ _If that’s what you’d like_ , _Sir_.” Stiles shoots back, not missing a beat. Oh, Peter likes this one.

“Hm, perhaps we’ll save that for another time. Peter works for now.” He concedes, curious if Stiles would get off on that kind of power imbalance. Well, he has time to figure it out.

“ _Peter it is. Let me know when that changes for you._ ”

“You’ll be the first, darling.”

“ _Is this a purely social call, or…?_ ”

“Very to the point, I see.”

“ _Always_.”

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

“ _What do you have in mind?_ ”

“Dinner.”

“ _I don’t really do dinner_.” Stiles interjects quickly.

“Dinner _and then_ my place.”

The boy hesitates on the line for a moment, and Peter can hear a cat meow somewhere in the distance. He has a pet, it would seem. He didn’t strike Peter as the type, but then again stranger things have happened.

“ _Rates are a bit different from the library_.” He says eventually. Peter smirks victoriously.

“Name a price.” Peter answers immediately. There’s another pause, and he wonders briefly if this is the first time Stiles has gone this deep.

“ _A grand. For the whole night. I’m assuming you’re gonna wanna fuck, right_?” Stiles says, and Peter hears the light tread of the boy pacing around his space.

“You’ve assumed correctly. As fond as I am of your mouth, I’d like to see what the rest of you can do.” Peter murmurs. Stiles lets out a long breath, and Peter can identify the jerky sounds that indicate someone in constant movement.

“ _Okay, okay. Just – yeah. A grand works, extra five if you’re into anything weird._ ” He adds.

“What exactly is your definition of ‘weird’?” Peter can’t help but ask.

“ _Dunno, I’ll judge when you’re doing it_.”

“Sounds fair. Can I pick you up at seven?”

“ _How about you give me the address and I’ll meet you there_?” The boy is cautious, and despite Peter’s slight disappointment in not having the opportunity to learn he lives, he likes a toy with a good head on its shoulders.

“Alright, I’ll text it to you. I’ll set up a reservation, just give your name and ask for Mr. Hale.”

“ _That works. I’ll see you tomorrow then_.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

The call disconnects with a small beep, and Peter sinks back into his chair with a pleasant smile on his face. He still has a bit of work to do, and he has to stop by Derek’s loft to pick up a pair of cufflinks he’d managed to forget there at some point. Before he sets down his phone, he takes the time to fire off a quick message.

 **PETER** : 58739 Garrison Ave. It’s downtown, two blocks down from the Municipal Hall. Wear something nice.

He gets a text back an hour later, presumably Stiles’ attempt to look like he’s got things to do other than text Peter.

 **STILES** : noted thx

Peter scrunches his nose up at the chat speak, but hey you can’t win them all.

* * *

Peter spends most of Saturday working. One of his assistants had confused two of the painting shipments, sending one to the museum and the other to a private collector instead of vice versa. 

Firing people always involves so much paper work.

By the time it’s four, Peter’s a little bit on edge and aching to get away from it all. He ends his day early, figuring he’ll spend his remaining time getting ready for the evening. Before he climbs in the shower, he calls housekeeping to tidy up the place a bit.

Having money always has its benefits. While he’s not looking to impress, it’s bad manners to host without putting in a little effort.

By the time he steps out of the bathroom, his apartment is dusted and most of his papers arranged into neat little stacks. The bed is made, and the hardwood looks polished. She’d been efficient, and Peter makes a note to send her a particularly nice tip.

He picks a suit out of his closet, it’s dark grey and it will pair well with the pale blue tie he’s been meaning to wear. He spares a moment to wonder what Stiles will be dressed in, and what ‘something nice’ even means to the boy.

Regardless, Peter gets dressed, slicks back his hair and pins on the little cufflinks he’d snagged from Derek’s the night before.

It’s just before six, and it won’t take him more than half an hour to drive to the restaurant, but he remembers he has to stop off at the ATM before he gets there and then drive back.

* * *

When Peter spots the waiter guiding Stiles over to his table, he can’t help the feeling of satisfaction that washes over him as he looks at the boy.

He’s dressed in all darks, ranging from his black jeans to the deep charcoal of his dress shirt. He’s got a sports jacket slung over one arm and Peter has the overwhelming urge to fuck him over one of the tables. He’s still wearing his glasses, and Peter wants to know if they’re a regular fixture, or if he remembered that Peter liked them.

Instead he gets up, walks around their table, and pulls out Stiles’ chair for him. The boy rolls his eyes but takes his seat, and the waiter disappears in the blink of an eye.

“Corner table and even pulled out my chair? We’ve clearly got a thing for clichés going, don’t we?” He comments without so much as a hello, draping his coat on the back of his chair while watching Peter sit back down.

“I’ve got two dozen candles lit for when we’re done and Barry White playing on loop in the bedroom.” Peter comments, smiling when Stiles snorts out a small laugh and places a hand over his chest.

“A man after my own heart. Sorry I’m a bit late, my jeep had a hard time starting.” Stiles says, tracing the silverware in front of him and absently gazing around the room.

Peter adds it to the list of expenses he’s slowly learning that Stiles has. School, pet, car, presumably rent. Quite a bit for someone that can’t be a day over twenty.

“It wasn’t a problem, I went ahead and ordered us a bottle of wine.” Peter says, and as if on cue, the waiter appears with the red in hand. Stiles, surprisingly, just holds up his palm.

“I don’t drink.” He says, offering no explanation and just looking like he wants Peter to say something about it. The werewolf just smirks, shrugging it off and gesturing at his own glass.

“No worries, more for me.” Peter answers smoothly, watching the waiter uncork the bottle and pour him a generous helping. If Peter was being honest, he’d admit to being slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see the boy tipsy. Peter didn’t know if Stiles didn’t drink as a general rule, or just when he was out with strange men. Regardless, he isn’t keen on pushing the issue.

The waiter places two menus down in front of them, and Peter smiles when Stiles’ forehead wrinkles as he looks at it.

“Are you cool with ordering for me? I really don’t want to have to ask what all of this is.” Stiles says, looking up and offering Peter a tight smile. He seems a little on edge, and Peter would want him to have a sip of his wine if only to loosen him up a little bit.

“Of course. Any allergies?” Peter asks. Stiles shakes his head, toying with the edge of the table cloth as Peter flags down their server with a casual flick of his wrist.

“For myself, I’m thinking bœuf bourguignon. For him… we’ll go with bouchées à la reine?” Peter inquires, quirking his brow as Stiles nods.

“And for a starter, Mr. Hale?” The waiter asks calmly. Peter considered it for a moment before shrugging and handing his menu over.

“I suppose the charcuterie maison.” He adds, watching Stiles squint at him for a moment. “What?” Peter asks, after their server had taken Stiles’ menu as well and departed.

“God, nothing. You’re just – you’re really, you know.” Stiles says, gesturing at Peter before waving at the entirety of the restaurant. It suddenly occurs to Peter that Stiles might actually be uncomfortable here, in this setting.

“Well off?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Perks to having most of your family die in a fire.” Peter says, perhaps more curtly than he’d intended. Stiles visibly flinches.

“I’m sorry –“

“I’m not. It happened a long time ago. Besides, it paid off most of my student loans. I wouldn’t be doing nearly as well as I am now if I was still in debt.” Peter takes a sip of his wine and watches how Stiles’ lips thin.

“Yeah, debt’s a bitch.” Stiles says.

“Which is why you’re here about to enjoy a lovely dinner.” Peter says. Stiles looks a little like he just bit down on a lemon, but he doesn’t seem to want to continue that line of conversation.

“What exactly is it that you do?” He asks instead.

“I buy and sell art. Paintings, mostly, but the odd sculpture here and there. It pays well, and it’s more than I ever thought I’d be doing with a Masters in Art History.”

“Oh, so you deal with museums?”

“Occasionally. Mostly private buyers, they always pay better than government owned institutions.” Peter has trouble controlling his smile, but Stiles chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, government. Charges too much, pays you too little.” He says. Peter’s tempted to ask him what his finances look like, but he sees the server coming their way with an appetizer and decides he can save it for another time.

* * *

Dinner passes in a haze of pleasant conversation and good food. Stiles is clever and sharp, and Peter is granted the pleasure of learning that Stiles is double majoring in Political Science and Mass Communications. It’s interesting, and when Stiles divulges that he’s going to aim for a PhD in Sociolinguistics, Peter finds it oddly suited to him.

He lets Stiles order dessert, which, apparently, is a mistake. He asks for whatever chocolate they have, and it’s just Peter’s luck that it’s mousse. Peter barely touches it, and despite the two spoons they’re left with, Stiles manages to get it all over his hands. By the time they’re done and Stiles is licking chocolate off his fingers and looking Peter in the eye while he does it, Peter wants to fuck him so badly it’s a physical ache.

When they leave the restaurant, Peter guides Stiles out with a hand on the small of his back, and delights when Stiles lets him without complaint.

“Did you drive here?” Peter asks. Stiles shakes his head.

“Kind of, parked at the bus station a couple blocks away and bussed the rest.” Stiles says, shivering slightly and sliding into his coat. It stirs the air around him and Peter is again treated to a whiff of the boy’s scent. There’s a bit of lavender this time too, and Peter entertains the idea that Stiles actually _does_ have scented candles at home.

“Perfect. There’s a bus stop not too far from my house.” Peter says, eyes lighting up when the valet pulls up to them and gets out.

“Of course you drive a Benz. Of _course_ you do.” Stiles says, voice a little bit breathy despite his eye roll. Peter, always one to show off, catches the keys tossed at him.

“Did you expect any different? Come on, get in.” Peter says, sliding into the driver side as Stiles makes his way around the car. He gets in, seemly careful about touching any part of the interior. He perches on the edge of the seat, pursing his lips before finally sliding back and sinking into the soft leather.

“Wooooah, this is comfortable.” He mumbles, and Peter can’t help but smile.

“The seats recline all the way.”

“Can we fuck in your car?”

“Absolutely not. The seats alone probably cost more than your entire degree.”

“Hey, low blow.” Stiles mutters, but perks up almost immediately after. “Wait, can I at least blow you in here?”

Peter swerves just a little, and when he side-eyes Stiles, the boy is full on smirking. Cocky little shit.

“If you spill a drop on any of the upholstery, I get to punish you.”

“And if I make you come before we get to your place?”

“There’s an extra five hundred in it for you.”

“Five… holy shit, yeah. Yeah, sure deal.”

Stiles appears unsure of what to do for a moment, and Peter has no problem guiding him. He leans back further and spreads his legs, taking one hand off the wheel to palm at his crotch.

“Whenever you’re ready, Stiles.” Peter says softly, and he can smell the boy’s arousal saturating the small space. Brown eyes are locked on the vee of his legs, and Stiles lets out a long breath before he unbuckles his seatbelt and twists sideways in his seat. He licks his lips twice, adjusts his glasses, and shoots Peter one last glance before leaning down and nuzzling at Peter’s cock through his pants.

He stays in control, mostly, and as much as he’d like to watch Stiles struggle to get his pants undone, he’s still got to watch the road for another twenty-five minutes. He hears the click of his belt buckle coming undone, and then the soft slide of the top button popping out of place.

His zipper goes next, and Stiles wastes no time in pulling him through the hole in the front of his briefs. He’s getting hard quickly, unsurprising considering he hasn’t had a lay in weeks. Stiles strokes him once, twice, and then he feels those lips on him.

Peter fights to keep his eyes open, one hand on the wheel and one hand coming to rest in Stiles hair. Stiles has an absolutely _wicked_ mouth on him, and Peter has no delusions about lasting the whole car ride. He goes a little slower this time, letting Peter slide in inch by inch until he can feel stiles nose pressing against him, nuzzling against the thick thatch of hair.

The throat this boy has will quite possibly be the death of him.

Stiles moans around him, and Peter grips his hair, barely letting Stiles up before pushing him back down again. He realizes, on some level, that he could be arrested for this. They could _both_ be arrested for this.

But then again, some things just might be worth going to jail for.

Peter doesn’t have a lot of room to move his hips, has to keep one foot on the pedal at all times. He’s speeding just a touch, but if he doesn’t press down on the gas, he’s fairly certain he’ll lose himself to thrusting in Stiles’ mouth.

The pace slows, and Peter lets Stiles draw back, far enough to mouth at the head of his cock and murmur out Peter’s name. That’s definitely cheating, but he isn’t about to stop the slight stream of babble that’s begun from where Stiles is sucking small kisses onto the side of his dick.

“ _God_ , you taste good…” Stiles breathes out, air ghosting against Peter’s length and shooting a shiver straight up his spine. Guess he really hadn’t needed to pay the boy extra to be into it. “Wonder what you’d feel like inside me.” He goes on, and Peter’s can’t listen to this anymore. He’s pretty sure if Stiles says one more word he’s going to pull over. No sex in the car rule be damned.

He tugs Stiles hair roughly, earning him a hiss as he pushes the boy down to take him back into his mouth. Stiles just groans deeply, and lets his throat open again. Peter controls it now, guiding Stiles’ head up and down his cock at the pace he sets. If he can’t thrust into the boy’s mouth the way he wants to, this will do.

He lets his eyes flicker down for a moment, only to find Stiles’ eyes closed. He takes a second to appreciate the lips stretched wide around him, and that’s when he feels his climax coming.

They’re maybe ten minutes away, five if Peter speeds, and he almost wants to last all the way home just to see the look of disappointment on Stiles’ face when he realizes he didn’t make it.

He’s considering it, but then Stiles slides a hand inside his pants, cups his balls and squeezes with just the right amount of pressure and he’s coming down to the boy’s throat in an intense burst of pleasure.

Stiles’ swallows around his cock, ripping a shudder out of Peter as he slowly slides back up, tongue laving at the exposed skin and licking up anything he might have missed.

Those pretty amber eyes hold his for just a moment before Stiles sits up and points at the road.

“Not gonna be the guy who judges your driving habits, but I think the wrong side of the road might be pushing it.” Stiles voice is scratchy; Peter wants to comment on it, but he’s busy pulling back into their lane. Thank god he’d thought to take the less crowded streets.

Stiles, meanwhile, busies himself by fixing Peter’s pants, struggling with the belt for all of thirty seconds before giving up and flopping back against his seat.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to get it up for the rest of the night?” Stiles asks, adjusting himself through his pants. Peter has a problem not focusing on the gesture, especially when Stiles seems to realize he doesn’t need to stop at just the adjustment. He takes to lazily palming himself, fingers working over his own erection as Peter zips along the road.

“Don’t test me, Stiles. Werewolf, remember?” Peter says, and Stiles huffs out a small laugh that quickly turns into a quiet little moan. “Keep that up and we’ll see who has a problem lasting.” Peter adds, pulling in to the gated underground garage that signals their trip is finally over.

Stiles quirks up a small smile and takes his hands off himself, holding them up and wiggling his fingers before climbing out of the car.

* * *

His apartment is top floor and spacious. Stiles lets out a low whistle when they step out of the elevator and straight into his living room.

“Envelope is on the table, fire escape is against the far wall, and the bathroom is down the hall and the second door on your right.” Peter says once they’re inside, gently pushing Stiles in the direction of the coffee table.

Stiles makes for it immediately, picking the thing up and darting a glance up at Peter.

“And the extra five? I totally got you off before we got here.” He says. Peter rolls his eyes and hangs his coat up on the hook next to the elevator.

“Why don’t you count it first, sweetheart.” Peter says absently, watching the way Stiles wrinkles up his nose at the endearment. He doesn’t say anything else, though, just makes himself comfortable on Peter’s couch and takes out all the bills. There’s a shuffle of paper, and then a pause, and then another shuffle. At least he has the sense to recount.

Silence takes over and Peter mentally counts to fifteen before Stiles voice carries over to him.

“There’s two grand in here.” He says disbelievingly.

“Your company is worth more than a thousand, Stiles.” Peter says. The boy falls silent again, and by the time Peter loops around the couch to get a good look at him, Stiles is worrying at his lip and stuffing the money back into the envelope.

“I don’t do charity. I’ll take the one-five, and that’s it.” He says, sounding like it physically pains him to do so. Peter smirks at the pride of the boy. He’ll have a bit of fun bringing him down.

“If I remember correctly, you said it’d be an extra five hundred if I was, and I quote, ‘into anything weird.’” Peter says. Stiles squints at him.

“Are you?” He asks slowly. Peter smiles as pleasantly as possible, which only seems to make Stiles even more suspicious.

“If you count the desire to lick you open and eat you out until you come screaming my name, then yes, very.” Peter says, eying Stiles with every bit of hunger that he feels. The boy darkens at that, flush creeping up his neck like a wine stain as he slaps a hand over his face and displaces his glasses.

“God you’re forward.” Stiles mumbles, fingers covering his mouth as he collects himself. He hesitates, clearly torn between money and pride. Peter can’t blame him, it’s one of the most difficult positions to be in. He’s seen people lower themselves for less, and he won’t think poorly of Stiles for taking the money.

“How about I make sure you work for it, then.” Peter says. Stiles looks at him with unconcealed doubt, and Peter realizes he adores this part. Nothing is as satisfying as watching someone trying to figure out his angle, trying to get a glimpse into what his goals are.

Stiles looks almost defiant, the tilt of his body reminiscent of an animal backed into a corner. There’s a glint in his eyes that tells Peter this one won’t back down, and before he can rescind the offer, he gets a sharp nod.

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Stiles says, letting out a long breath and flicking the envelope onto the table. He looks up at Peter for another moment before gesturing around the living room.  “So, sex on your leather couches? Or do you actually have a bed somewhere in this ornate palace of unnecessary riches.”

Peter lets out a small laugh and holds his hand out. The boy is a bit of a smart ass, and Peter wonders just how much trouble it’s gotten Stiles into in the past.

“I have a bedroom, yes.” Peter says, observing as Stiles eyes his hand and finally takes it, allowing himself to be pulled up. As much as Peter wants to pull him flush against him, and fuck him against a wall, he won’t. It’s almost like Stiles is expecting it of him, and Peter wants to completely wipe away any preconceptions he’s already formed.

Instead he lets go of Stiles’ hand, letting his thumb ghost against the boy’s knuckles before gesturing down the hall.

“First door on your left.” Peter says, turning towards his kitchen. He can practically hear the gears turning in Stiles’ head.

“You’re not coming?” Stiles calls after him. Peter waits a moment before turning around and shrugging.

“I will, take your time, get familiar with the room. Wait wherever you want.” Peter says. Stiles doesn’t move right away, but as time passes without Peter giving him any further instructions, he finally turns to go where Peter directed him.

He can hear the door open, and the quiet click of it shutting before he pulls a bottle of beer out of his fridge and leans against his counter.

Now, he’ll wait.


End file.
